


Ma Chérie Amour

by kageillusionz, ScaledAngel (DraconicComposer)



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Artist!Marie, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, Humour, Magician!Remy, Misunderstandings, Romance, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraconicComposer/pseuds/ScaledAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marie is a self-made artist living in the city of New York. One of her best friends is getting married soon. In the midst of all the wedding preparations, she finally meets her neighbour who insists on taking her out for drinks. Will she, or won’t she, find true love? And who is this mysterious lady that she meets? [A What’s Your Number AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ma Chérie Amour

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I would like to thank my artist for being endlessly patient with me! Everyone should check out her art [here](http://scarabsethart.tumblr.com/). She's super fantastic! It has been a pleasure working with you this time around. I hope you will excuse the tardiness of this fic. But I hope you find it to your liking!  
> Secondly, this fic would not be half of what it is today without the hard work of three amazing ladies: **somerwrites, ang3lsh1, and ebonytavern**. These three have endlessly cheered, beta’d, consoled, listened to my insane ideas as I walked to the station, and kicked my bum into gear. You are all fabulous and I cannot thank you enough for what you have all done. Any mistakes are my own.  
>  Thirdly, I hope I have gotten the nuances of a Jewish wedding more or less believable (Thanks Youtube!). Thank you to **rozf** for consulting with me on that as usual! Please do not hesitate to correct me if some of the details are wrong.

Streaks of warm coloured paint smeared across Marie’s forehead when she ran the back of her hand over it. She rocked backwards on her stool to admire the colours that spilled over the canvas, oblivious to the state of her clothes, taking in the bold white lines that intersected sections of red and yellow in a portrait of Marie Curie's likeness. It was a striking piece, one of her best, and she felt an immense sense of accomplishment and pride for having finished it in under six hours. It was a personal best.

She turned around on her stool and took a moment to breathe, admiring the view of New York City outside her window. The golden glow of the afternoon filtered in through the streets, warm fingers creeping in and touching the broad expanse of her penthouse suite. The sight was breathtaking and impossible to capture on canvas, no matter how often she tried.

Her flat took up half the space of the top level. It was an open plan living space with a modest kitchen stocked to the gills with coffee and corn chip. Her bedroom and bathroom were set to the side, hidden by a Japanese partition she had picked up at a ‘yard sard’.

Along the far length of her flat furthest from the entryway was her dedicated work space. The polished wooden floors were covered in canvas to prevent any paint damage. A cabinet stood in between two curtainless windows, art supplies spilling out of the drawers that made up the bottom half. Finished paintings were either hung up to dry or left to lean against other of her completed works.

She had a DSLR camera mounted on a tripod in front of her coffee table connected to her MacBook, rigged to record her process. Facing the low table was the beaten leather couch that had been her first purchase as a new home-owner and it was moved every other day to suit her fancy.

“Please tell me you recorded everything,” Marie muttered, feeling apprehension flutter in her stomach when she went to check her laptop. Although she had gotten plenty of practise over the years, it was every YouTuber’s nightmare to have technical difficulties and lose footage. Especially if it was something that couldn’t be redone like her paintings. There was no undo option in real life, unfortunately. She let out a sigh of relief when she found everything was all there, turning her head towards the windows again. There was enough sunlight to go for a run around the neighbourhood and work out all the kinks from having sat on a stool for hours on end. Editing the video and uploading it to her channel could wait a few hours.

Leaving the painting to dry on the easel, Marie changed into something more suitable for exercise and quickly went into the bathroom to check her reflection. Paint stubbornly clung to her skin and she scrubbed futilely at it.

“Staying classy, Marie,” she muttered, grabbing her keys and iPod off her dresser on her way to the front door.

She was checking her shoelaces when the door opposite hers swung open with a loud bang, prompting her to drop her headphones. It was the first time since she had moved in that she had actually seen her neighbour.

“Bonjour, ma chérie!” An accented voice greeted her.

Her eyebrows rose towards her hairline. Meeting her neighbour whilst he was mostly naked was not how she had envisioned to meet him. Marie was unimpressed by this guy’s lack of social decency when she watched him exchange the tea towel he was using to cover himself with for the newspaper he had just bent to pick up (secretly, she was impressed by how well-fitting his birthday suit was. _Damn son_ ).

His teeth, Marie noted later when she wasn’t distracted by his physique, were straight and obscenely white. Not that that was an uncommon sight. His red irises were. She had never seen anyone like that before. Contacts probably. Maybe he was someone who liked getting into cosplay.

“I’m Remy! We have not met until now. I don’t think,” he continued with a wide grin.

“I only wished it would have remained that way,” Marie replied with a wan smile and shifted her weight on her feet. She didn’t want to seem rude, but she also didn’t want to linger any longer in the hallways with her naked neighbour than she had to. People would talk if they found out. They do little else anyway.

“You are Marie, oui?” he asked, seemingly unaware of Marie's thoughts about escape. “I was meaning to take you out for a welcoming drink. But—” Somebody interrupted with a loud giggle from within his apartment. Remy shrugged helplessly.

“Let me guess,” Marie sighed, put upon that they were even having this conversation. “Life got in the way, and then it felt too awkward.” It’s an excuse she's heard from various exes in the past. It wouldn’t be the last time either, she wagered.

“Exactly as you say!” Remy nodded enthusiastically. “I recently just finished work in Las Vegas, you see, and I’ve got some time off if you would like—” This time he was interrupted by a woman calling out his name in a disgustingly coy manner.

“It’s no bother. I’m sure we’ll have opportunity later to get to know one another.” She pointed her chin towards his open door and continued, “wouldn’t want to keep your guest waiting.”

Remy chuckled. “Drinks, sometime next week then. My treat. I should like to get to know my neighbour, ma chérie.”

“Sure,” Marie said with a shrug. “I’ll catch you later.” She put on a burst of speed and jogged down the stairs without waiting for his reply. If he hadn’t gotten around to it for the past two years, Marie doubted he was going to remember. She knew far too many men like Remy who were all filled with empty promises and emptier morals. Whoever said chivalry was dead had probably been in a similar position.

* * *

**(+ 10 points. He made the first move.)**

“You are the YouTuber who paints, non?” .

“Jesus!” Marie yelped in surprise, pushing away from her mailbox to glare at the offender.

Remy grinned and waved hello. In his hand was a large manila envelope and he smacked it against his palm.

She had half a mind to punch Remy in the shoulder for being such a jerk. “Are you stalking me now? How the hell do you know that?” Last she remembered, she hadn’t told Remy her occupation. Hell, she hadn’t even told him her _name_ and he still somehow knew it.

“I saw your one million subscribers plaque hanging in your hallway. I’m a pretty smart guy. I did put two and two together.” Remy flashed her a thumbs up with his free hand. “I watched out all your videos after Selene left… or was her name Celeste. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. I didn’t know I’d have a famous celebrity as my neighbour.”

She closed the lid to her mailbox with a little more force than was necessary. Was this guy serious? “I wouldn’t call that being famous exactly.” She was just glad and thankful that people out there in the world enjoyed her art enough to subscribe. When she had first just started out, Marie would never have dreamt that one day she would have so many people interested in what she did. That she could actually live her dream and do that every day was a blessing. But the fact that this guy had noticed? Remy’s powers of deduction and observation were to be applauded.

“Non?” Remy’s eyebrows crept up towards his hairline. “Your art is exquisite. The amount of detail you put into your work is incredible, and the colours you’ve used in combination with your brush strokes is genius; you are very talented, Miss Rogue.”

“Compliments can get you anywhere,” Marie replied easily and tucked a curl behind her ear. "But I don’t see how I could ever compete with Mr. Gambit, the famous magician, who had just wrapped up his string of shows in Las Vegas. What do you want?"

Nothing seemed to faze Remy. He continued to smile broadly as they climbed the stairs together up to their flats. Perhaps he was pleased by their mutual ability to use the Internet, which in this day and age, was not all that difficult.

"I was serious about that drink, chére. Do you have a favourite bar?"

Marie was instantly suspicious. She had cultivated a healthy sense of paranoia when it came to men and drinks. The fact that she had two mothers had nothing to do with her distrust in men (even if some of the choices she made in bedpartners were entirely her fault). “What will you do if I tell you? How do I know whether I can trust you not to murder me at the bar?”

"Ma chérie, I assure you I have no designs on murdering anyone."

She was everything but assured. "That's what a murderer would say!"

"If I were a serial killer, as you say,” Remy countered, “I wouldn't have waited till now to ask you out for a drink in the hopes that you’d be my next hypothetical victim. And as for how I know your name, your mail ends up in my mailbox by accident sometimes."

Marie raised a dubious eyebrow and turned to inspect the rows of mailboxes. Their apartment only had two tenants on every floor. The postal service was getting sloppy if they couldn’t tell the difference between an A and a B.

"I'll think about that drink. I'm very busy," Marie said, jangling her keys in hand and checking the time on her wrist watch. Several hours to burn before meeting up with her friend Jean Summers to organize their mutual friend Kitty Pryde’s upcoming hens night. “And as for my favourite bar, well, you’ll just have to find that out yourself after you tell me where _your_ favourite bar is.”

"You let me know when you’re available, chére. I’m usually free whenever!" Remy threw a jaunty parting wave over his shoulder and stalked out the main door onto the streets below, leaving Marie to stare after him.

Perhaps she was being too judgemental and paranoid about the whole going out for drinks thing. Perhaps Remy wasn’t a downright bastard like most of the men in her life. Marie snorted and shook herself physically, quickly making a pit stop at home.

She was the pragmatic one of her group of friends. Anything relating to optimism was better left to Jubilation Lee, or Jubilee as she preferred. It was her name after all.

* * *

**(-5 points. No follow up)**

'Usually free' turned out to be a complete lie, as Marie found out over a late brunch with her friends a few days later at their favourite diner. Bobby’s was a busy little place with booths running all along the length of the windows and was set up to look like something from the late sixties. The place was named after the owner — a third generation Bobby — who had a pretty cute smile in Kitty’s opinion.

Not that her opinion would matter for very long when she was soon to be married to her long-time boyfriend Piotr.

“It’s a complete mess,” Kitty moaned, propping her face up as she chased a sliver of pancake around her plate. “I’m not going to have a wedding if she keeps it up.” There was no need to ask who the ‘she’ in question was; Piotr’s mother was apparently giving Kitty a run for her money in the stubborn stakes. And time was a precious commodity where wedding preparations were concerned. Or as Kitty liked to put it: the wedding negotiations.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Jubilee gasped, a hand flying over her heart like she had been personally assaulted.

“She knows how important it is for me to have a Jewish wedding,” Kitty moped.

“What about Piotr?” Marie asked. “You are marrying him, not his mother. Surely there’s something he can say?”

Kitty shook her head and sighed despondently. “He’d rather not get caught in the middle of it. Plus he’s been on call for the past few days, so he’s staying well away from the wedding plans. No, my friends, this is a one woman battle: mujer a mujer. Distract me from my woes. Who are you all bringing to my wedding? Aside from Jean since she’s obviously going to bring her husband. Unless you aren’t, which is totally cool and all.”

“Of course I’m bringing Scott,” Jean said around a large bite out of her toast.

“What about you, Jubes?”

“I dunno yet. I’ll have to get back to you later if and when they get back to me!”

They all turned towards Marie with varying degrees of ‘shall we ask’ written on their faces.

“I don’t have anyone planned yet, but maybe...” Marie said at length, going for mysterious and failing when she received a snort of disbelief from Kitty. So, Marie’s track record so far when it came to weddings was a stellar three for three with regards to hooking up with someone she hadn’t met before. It wasn’t like she had _planned_ for things to end up that way. They just happened.

“Why don’t we talk about anything but my failing love life?” Marie grumbled, turning to Jubilee with pathetic ‘change the subject please!’ eyes.

Thankfully, Jubilee had always been the best at reading social cues. It gave her the perfect opportunity to rant and ramble about her favourite subjects: dogs that she couldn’t have but would love to own someday; the specials from the latest catalogue; and her one true love, Gambit the World Famous Magician.

Everyone had long since learned to tune out Jubilee’s fangirling, given how often they’ve heard the speech before. Marie listened with half an ear as Jubilee retold the adventures of Gambit who was currently spreading terror all over New York by performing gravity defying acts in broad daylight.

"He is just sooooooo cool. I hope to catch him doing more magic in New York soon," Jubilee sighed wistfully, taking a long sip from her milkshake and then swooning again. "Did you know I went to one of his shows once? He’s so talented and I'd really love to go see his shows live again."

“We know just about the last hundred times you told us, Jubes,” Kitty reminded her.

"Didn't he just do one in Las Vegas?" Marie asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth unfiltered. Her attention had been glued to the fantastic ass of a passing jogger with his corgi, so she couldn't be held accountable for the slip of her tongue.

Jubilee’s grin was wide, her eyes shining bright with a manic gleam. Even Jean raised an eyebrow, her coffee cup pausing halfway from the saucer to her lips.

“How did you know? I had no idea you were into Gambit! If you’d let me know sooner, we could have made a trip down to Las Vegas together!”

“Yeah,” Marie said with a shrug as she sipped at her banana smoothie and tried desperately to salvage the situation. “He’s pretty… neat. But I’m not really...”

“Neat?” Jubilee looked aghast as if Marie had just insulted her mother. “ _Neat?_ He’s the best!” And she presumed to list the many reasons as to why Gambit was The Best. No exceptions.

“So. What number does he rank then?” Kitty asked, talking over Jubilee who didn’t appear to be listening to either of them as she rambled at Jean.

“Who?”

“Gambit. On your list, just out of curiosity.”

Marie’s love life was always of interest to her friends. Mostly because the men cycled in her life about as often as she changed her underwear. None had quite managed to captivate her attention. The aforementioned list categorized her potential love interests and matched them to fit a rigid set of criteria, assigning them points out of a hundred when it came to attraction and personality (amongst other things).

"Hmm," Marie tapped her chin in thought. Gambit was — even she had to admit — easy on the eyes. Marie knew it wasn't all about the exterior but she did have standards. Fit too, that much she had seen and could confirm with her very eyes. But given how many lady callers he had... well, she was no paragon of monogamy herself but he made her appear like a nun in comparison. She mulled him over another sip of her smoothie.

"Obviously, this is a judgment made entirely on aesthetics alone," Marie prefixed with her usual disclaimer. It was probably best not to mention that her neighbour was the very man of Jubilee’s continual squee fests for now. "...but he's like a forty three out of fifty."

Jubilee bristled, personally affronted that her beloved idol didn't net the full fifty points available and was only abated when Kitty chimed in with a "there's always room for improvement" and reminded her of “personal tastes, Jubes”.

Marie, not for the first time during breakfast, sighed inwardly and urged the conversation towards other pastures that didn’t leave her feeling like she had somehow dodged a bullet.

* * *

**(-10. Showing up on my doorstep after weeks of radio silence)**

Someone loudly knocking on her door cut through Marie’s dreams like a warm knife through butter. She woke to the warmth of a sunbeam on her face and grumbled when she burrowed her head underneath her pillow.

The man she had been with last night — carefully chosen from the selection at the pub through her not-so-reliable beer goggles — had kindly disappeared after the act, avoiding the hated awkward morning after. By mutual understanding, the sooner after the sex they left, the better it was for both parties involved.

She dug the heel of her hand into her eyes and entertained the idea of pretending that she wasn’t home when the knocking didn’t stop. Whoever was at the door could also be the guy from last night, having forgotten something; she had been in that position more than once with past conquests. _This is decidedly worse than any morning after,_ Marie thought, taking a moment to stretch out her limbs before rolling out of bed to take pity on him.

She pulled the afghan off the back of her couch, wrapping it firmly around herself, and paused in the mirror next to the door to coax her hair into some semblance of order. She gave up on that endeavour shortly after — the thoroughly shagged rat’s nest would just have to do for now — and then yanked the door open.

“What did you forg—”

It wasn’t the guy from last night standing outside her door looking sheepish. Remy stood — wearing pants for a change — leaning against the door frame, brandishing a questionably clean jug. Marie flickered between it and Remy’s face.

“What do you want.” She didn’t mean to sound so cool and dismissive, but being interrupted from a well-deserved sleep after a questionably decent shag did not a happy Marie make. And it wasn’t like she had been in the habit of playing nice, let alone to the assholes who disappear without so much as a by your leave.

“A cup of milk, if that’s not too much trouble, chére?” Remy had the sort of hopeful puppy dog look that would make people lesser than her quibble and forgive. Thankfully, Jubilee used the very same tactic — to a much more successful degree — and Marie had built up a healthy tolerance over the years.

“And what makes you think that I’ll actually let you in?”

“Well,” Remy drawled, shifting his weight that made his chest muscles flex. Marie was most certainly not impressed by the display.

“I would appreciate it if you chased off my gal like I did your guy this morning.”

Marie blinked at the mention of ‘her guy’, who she assumed to be long gone by now. “You’re asking me to let you hide out in here until…?”

“Just until she gets bored and has to go to work,” Remy chimed. “And I make a mean breakfast if you’d care to let me use your kitchen.”

“Shouldn’t it be your gal who receives this breakfast traditionally?”

“Nah,” Remy said. “She’d get ideas and then I really won’t be rid of her. C’mon, chére. How often does the guy you sleep with cook you breakfast, eh?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, lover boy.” The promise of food, though, was one of her weaknesses and between one moment and the next, her kitchen was filled by a Remy-shaped being who was happily rooting through her cupboards for ingredients like a squirrel.

“Take a seat, ma chérie,” Remy said indicating with a wooden spatula to one of the bar counter stools. “Remy will have your pancakes ready quick.”

Being the rebel that she was, Marie turned towards the bathroom instead and locked herself inside. She wondered what in God’s name possessed her to agree to let Remy use her place as a hideout as she brushed her teeth. _You’re meant to be demanding answers from him,_ Marie reminded her reflection, _not become his accomplice! You should kick him out._

But she was as much a slave to her stomach as any other incompetent adult who couldn’t cook; a homemade meal sounded amazing to her wallet. She tossed the afghan into the hamper and then slunk into her wardrobe to change into something more appropriate than underwear.

When she returned to the kitchen following the delicious scent, she found breakfast on the counter; Remy had outdone himself. Upon two plates she found pancakes and strawberries. Marie wasn’t even sure she had edible fruit in her fridge until that moment.

“I’m surprised and impressed you found the unexpired portion of my fridge,” Marie said, claiming a plate of pancakes as her own and then drowning them in maple syrup.

“I am a man of many hidden talents.”

“Yes. Like the one where you disappear for weeks on end after offering to go out for drinks? I’d say that was a hidden talent if I wasn’t already aware of it.”

“I apologise, ma chérie.” Remy sounded contrite. “I was away for business and did not make good on my promise. A friend of mine pulled in a favour that I simply couldn’t refuse.”

“You could have called or slipped a note underneath my door, or even made a comment on my channel. We live in the 21st century not the dark ages.” Marie stuffed a pancake in her mouth. It was hard being accusatory when there was a heavenly chorus on her palate.

Remy remained quiet when he cut up his pancakes into squares. Only after drowning them in maple syrup did he say, “Tell me you don’t read each and every comment on your channel.”

“Well… no. But the point remains,” Marie said and pointed her fork at him. “You could have said _something_. Even snail mail would have gotten back to me by now.”

“I’m… sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

“Good at what?”

He made a vague gesture in the air, making the muscles in his arm flex; Marie was certainly not _distracted_ by them. “This dating thing. I’ve never been very good...”

“At upholding a monogamous relationship?” Marie suggested. Because this was the pot calling the kettle black given that Marie didn’t have a stellar record in that department either. “Don’t worry. You’re in pretty good company there. Not that _that_ is something to brag about, Cajun.”

“Cajun,” Remy repeated with a surprised cough. “You recognize my accent?”

“Yeah. I’ve always had a pretty good ear for them.”

“Does that mean you’ll forgive me then, chérie?”

Marie propped her head up and squinted at him. “It’s taken you this long to make good on your promise of taking me out for a ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ drink. I suppose an extra week is pretty insignificant in the scope of things since you seem pretty serious this time around.”

“I am, chére.”

“Alright then. Take me out to dinner tonight, and you’re forgiven. Just one more thing, though.”

“Anything.”

“Did you really chase that guy out earlier?” There was a story there, Marie could feel it. And she wanted to know.

“Oh, yes. Apparently he forgot his shirt this morning. I told him you’ll get in touch if he wanted it back badly.” Remy shrugged. “He gave me his number to pass on to you. and didn’t stick around for very long. I think he might have been intimidated by me.”

“Maybe.”

_More like your abdominal muscles,_ Marie thought but wisely didn’t say as she chewed on another pancake and quietly admired the view of Remy doing the dishes. It was a view that she could get used to.

* * *

**(+10. Unconventional first date location)**

Marie couldn’t help the small smile on her face when she looked down at Remy fast asleep. He had made himself comfortable upon her couch as she had puttered around the flat cleaning up. Somehow between the dishes and watching Marie speed-paint Nikola Tesla, he must have fallen asleep waiting. Not that she could blame him. The afternoon light landed just right on the couch; she had napped there often enough herself.

Leaving Remy to nap a little bit longer, Marie took the opportunity to clean up. She eyed her full laundry basket with a vengeance and vowed to get a load done soon.

He was just stirring when Marie finally deemed herself ready to be seen by pleasant company. He was making cute little snuffling noises as he woke. Marie felt something flutter inside of her. Could it be the heart she thought she had lost? Or maybe it was indigestion from the lunch that Remy threw together using the last of her ingredients and supplemented by a quick trip back to his flat.

“Good morning, dumbass,” Marie greeted, grinning from the back of the couch that she was leaning against.

It took Remy a moment to process everything. Marie could almost see the cogs turning inside his head until he sat bolt upright and looked in horror at her. “I—”

“It’s fine, Cajun. Don’t sweat it. I know I have a pretty comfortable couch.” Marie grinned smugly down at him, reaching down to poke a cheek. “Need a moment to refresh and put on a shirt?”

Remy relaxed and then looked down at his bare chest. He returned the grin. “Weren’t you enjoying the free show? Give me ten minutes.” And with that, he ran out of Marie’s flat and disappeared into his own to change.

She gave herself a once over in the mirror, wondering if the red dress she was wearing would be appropriate. She was looking forward to where Remy was taking them for dinner. Would it be a fancy restaurant somewhere in Soho with ridiculous portions to match its ridiculous price tag? Or perhaps it’d be at some diner near 9th Avenue where they served watered down coffee by a frumpy diner lady in her sixties.

A half hour cab ride later, Marie was revising her thoughts. The place they were standing outside was a derelict building, which was not precisely the kind of thing she had in mind when it came to first dates. Or any dates for that matter.  She was comfortable with establishments where she wasn’t going to be shanked as soon as she stepped inside. Even the name ‘The Thieves Guild’ didn’t put her at ease. In fact,

“Cajun…”

“Relax, chére. It’s just a bar. Don’t let looks deceive you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” Remy said seriously and herded her past the squeaky door with a hand on the small of her back.

Once inside, Marie felt less dubious about the matter.

The Thieves Guild had a stage towards the back, dark navy velvet curtains hanging behind the live band playing. Along one side was the bar that wrapped around the corner towards a boothed area, the length of it illuminated by a series of colour changing LEDs that might have been the only modern thing about the place.

“Dinner before drinks?” Remy asked, jabbing a thumb towards the hairy flannel wearing bartender puffing away on a cigar. The man looked like he knew his way around a chainsaw rather than a cocktail shaker. Talk about classy.

“How about dinner _during_ drinks?” she countered.

Remy shot her a wide grin. “I like the way you think,” he said and ushered her away from the bar.

A lady with the sickest mohawk Marie had ever seen, clad top to bottom in leather and metal studs, stood by the ‘Please wait here to be seated’ sign. She was inspecting her nails but straightened up from where she was leaning against the tower of menus when they approached.

“Ma cherie Ororo!” Remy exclaimed. “I thought you weren’t working tonight.”

“T’Challa is with the kids tonight. We came to a compromise so that he could spend some more time with them,” Ororo said.

Marie watched in fascination as Ororo’s gravity defying hair seemed to spring back into place.

“Oh! Marie, this is Ororo. She makes sure everything runs smoothly while I am away. Ororo, this is my special lady Marie.”

“A special lady,” Ororo repeated with a roguish grin, then picked up two menus and a bottle of water from under the counter. “A romantic table for two seems to be a theme tonight. Right this way.”

They made their way towards the booths situated along one wall. The cutlery and the glassware on the table winked mischievously at them. The only other customers there were two older gentlemen — one in a wheelchair and the other in a trilby — looking rather dapper at a candlelit dinner. Marie wondered why they looked a little familiar but then shrugged and slid into the nearest available booth. It wouldn’t do to spend her date thinking about other men.

“If there’s anything you need, just give us a holler,” Ororo said and sauntered back to her roost.

The menu was succinct, filled with an assortment of tapas and typical bar food. A lot of it seemed to feature maple syrup and when Marie wondered why that was, Remy laughed. “The owner’s Canadian. I’m ordering you a maple syrup cocktail, though you’re more than sweet enough already, chére.”

Marie let out a laugh, trying to will away her blush. “Shut up and order, Cajun.” Marie was oblivious of how close they were sitting, especially for a first date, until she felt Remy’s leg press up against hers. There was plenty of booth space on either side of them, and last she checked there was at least an inch of air between their thighs as ample insulation, but she couldn’t help feel that warmth rush upwards towards her face. This was no accident, Marie was certain.

Instead of rambling like a besotted fool, Marie channelled her nervousness into arguing about which tapas was the better choice. Remy took everything in stride and seemed to relish the chance at exaggerating about the origins of the food available. Which was all bullshit, if you asked Marie.

They agreed to disagree and diplomatically chose one of each. Remy slid out of the booth to place their order with Ororo before heading to the bar. True to his word, when Remy returned, he held a cocktail glass filled with amber liquid in one hand and what looked like bourbon in the other. “For you, chére.”

“Thank you. How much do I owe you for dinner and the—?” Marie gestured towards the cocktail glass.

“Nothing.” Remy fended off Marie’s attempts to pay him. “A little food and a drink long overdue is but a pale comparison to your lovely company.”

“Is that what you say to all the women that have graced your bed?”

Remy gasped, looking like Marie had insulted his mother. “Not at all! You are the first, ma cherie. Tonight is not about what has happened in our past, but to have a good time in the present and then a repeat of that in the future, yes?”

It was… awfully poetic and Marie paused. “Fine. We won’t air our dirty laundry tonight. Now tell me, Cajun, is everything about you on Wikipedia accurate?”

“I haven’t read my article actually so you will have to tell me all about the slanderous lies the Internet has written about me.” Remy laughed.

The burly bartender interrupted Marie’s reply from her selection of witty repartee to deliver their food to them personally. He flashed a toothy menacing grin at Remy and nodded politely in Marie’s direction. It seemed to Marie that he took great joy in crashing their date.

“Here’s your food. Are ya going to introduce me to your lady friend or what, LeBeau?”

“Marie this is—”

“— Logan.”

Marie’s hand was shaken firmly but not hard enough for bones to be crushed.

“I was going to say Logan,” Remy said with an impish twinkle in his eye.

“That wasn’t how you introduced me last time to your other lady friend. I thought we were friends, LeBeau.” There was a matching grin on Logan’s face.

Remy smiled and shrugged easily. “I hope you haven’t abandoned poor Beast at the bar on his lonesome again. You know how popular he is with your clientele.”

“Yea, I do,” Logan growled low in his throat. “Enjoy the food, kids.” He waved at them and stomped back to the bar like he were doing his best impression of a pissed off grizzly bear.

It seemed that everyone at The Thieves Guild knew Remy well. Marie craned her neck, hoping for a glimpse of this ‘Beast’. She was expecting to see a pro-wrestler or an Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonator manning the bar. Who she _did_ spot was a handsome gentleman with rather impressive biceps.

“Is that Beast?”

Remy looked up, following the point of her curly fry. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“Why’s he named that?” Marie asked, punctuating the sentence with a loud crunch. The fries were extra crispy, and if Marie were more of a lady she would have been embarrassed by her manners.

“Because of how he is in the sack,” Remy said pointedly, adding a leer and an eyebrow waggle. Marie squinted at him, getting the distinct feeling Remy was suggesting that he knew from personal experience. Not that she was going to judge or anything. But there were all sorts of questions now running through her mind that needed answering.

“Not me personally,” he added quickly. “Everything I hear from Logan. He’s the sharing type. Not sure if I should be disturbed.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet. An element of overshare perhaps, but... sweet like this cocktail.”

“So you like it then?” Remy asked, taking a sip of his bourbon.

They pick at their curly fries and calamari rings, exchanging embarrassing stories of their friends. If Marie was going to date Remy more, she was going to have a lot of explaining to do in the face of Gambit’s number one fan; Jubilee was going to kill her.

As far as first dates went, Marie found that it turned out to be a pretty good one. Not that she was an expert when it came to first dates by any means. But nothing had been set on fire, no one had gotten heinously drunk, they weren’t interrupted (too often by Logan anyway), and Remy made her _laugh_. It was easy to be around Remy and that was something Marie hadn’t experienced with another guy outside of dousing her liver in alcohol.

“There’s actually one more place I have to show you.”

Marie’s head whipped up like a hunting dog that had caught a scent. “One more place to go? You mean you’d actually planned something extra?”

Remy stood up, offering Marie his hand. “Of course! Somewhere special for someone special. Ready for this?”

Marie took one look at Remy’s hand, slipping her hand into his. She was a little flattered that he had gone to such lengths to plan this out. It was, dare she say it, more than a little romantic.

“Let’s find out.”

 

Remy’s mysterious location turned out to be Madison Square Garden. A very locked up Madison Square Garden with security prowling the perimeter with their torches and beer bellies.

“How the fuck are we going to get inside, assuming that you brought us here to see the court?”

Remy gave her a look filled with the promise of mischief. “You forget what I do for a living. We’re going to get in using magic.” The magic in question turned out to be a set of lockpicks tucked into a leather pouch, hidden in one of his jacket pockets. He crouched in front of the door and set to picking the lock.

Ten minutes later, it became obvious that Remy wasn’t as adept at lock picking as he thought.

“Move over before the guard comes around again, or I freeze to death,” Marie hissed, plucked the torsion wrench out of Remy’s grip and hip checked him out of the way. After a long tense moment of careful jiggling, the lock gave way with a satisfactory click that was music to her ears.

She tamped down on the need to crow in victory and grabbed for Remy’s hand. “Come on then!” she whispered, high on adrenaline, and pulled him inside.

They giggled their way inside, running through the long hallway that smelt of lacquer and stale, unfiltered air all of which was forgotten when they rounded the bend. Remy somehow knew which lever to snap the lights on, and the famous basketball court was flooded with light.

Here she was, standing at the top of the steps illegally and took all the seats in the bleachers. “Bloody hell,” Marie swore underneath her breath.

“Want to see it up close, ma chérie?” Remy asked, already jogging down the steps.

The basketball court was impressive on television, but by comparison, it was grander up close and personal. Legends had run across this beautiful court and here they were _standing_ where victories were fought over and hard won.

“How many lucky people have seen Madison Square Garden this empty?” she mused, running her fingers over the cool painted metal of the hoop post.

“Well,” he said with a shrug, watching her twirl around the post. “Guards. Cleaners. Thieves. Us.”

“You make it sound like nothing special, Cajun.” Marie spied a lone forgotten basketball underneath one of the chairs on the sidelines and bent down to pick it up, bouncing it next to one stilettoed foot. “How many do you think would have played a game of HORSE?”

Remy grinned. “I’m sure the cleaners are great at HORSE. Ladies first, of course.”

“And who said chivalry was dead?” Marie shot back as she made her way to the keyhole. She took a moment to eye the distance and then bounced the basketball, feeling smug when it landed into the hoop. “Your turn, Cajun.”

Remy dribbled the ball and took Marie’s position. “Not a problem, chérie.” The tip of his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he lined up the shot carefully, taking great care to aim as perfectly as possible. Which made the noise of annoyance when he missed the shot all the sweeter.

Marie caught the ball when Remy threw it back at her. “Too bad. That’s H for you.” She paused when Remy walked off court and toed off his shoes. “Wait. What the hell are you doing?” Marie asked, taking in Remy’s white socked feet in confusion.

“Upping the ante and live a little, chérie.” Remy shrugged and gave her a wide toothy grin. “We’re playing strip HORSE. Is there any other kind of HORSE?”

“And that makes it _so_ much better when we’re going to get arrested, right?” Marie asked. They were going to get arrested and then she’d have to phone her friends or her mothers to bail her ass out.

“That’s only if we get caught!”

“You’re crazy!” Marie shook her head. “You’re going down. Backward throw.”

The game was dominated by Marie, far too easily to be a coincidence. Remy lost. Lost far too willingly: his socks, his jacket, his shirt, his jeans.

Not that Marie was complaining at all, eyeing up all that toned muscular skin. It wasn’t her fault when she scratched her next shot and that was her dress gone.

Their game was cut short when the heavy set of footsteps of someone approaching interrupted their game. Marie had been expecting them much earlier, but that was lax security for you. They scrambled to pick up everything, sneaking out the back way on bare feet and quickly pulled their clothes on.

Marie stole Remy’s shirt — her dress being a pain in the ass to get into — and carried her heels in one hand. Adrenaline was rushing through her veins and she ignored the incredulous stares they got as they meandered all the way down to Hudson River like they were drunks. “I still can’t believe we made it out of that in one piece!” Her sides ached, both from laughing and from the stitch she had developed.

“How would you know what to believe if you never do it?” Remy shot back, walking side by side with her through the marina. “You have to live a little, chére.”

“It’s called common sense, Cajun. Just like how I _believe_ that… that jumping into the harbour is a terrible idea.”

“No,” Remy said with a wide grin. “I think it’s a _brilliant_ idea. Now that’s what I call living!”

“Says the one who does Houdini stunts for a living!” Remy shot her a meaningful look, one that spoke of danger and Marie shook her head in disbelief. “No.”

“Yes...”

“No…” Her brain was telling her no, but in the face of doing stupid things once in her life, her body was saying yes and Remy knew it.

Remy ignored her and undid the zip of his jacket slowly, borderline seductive if they were in any other place but a very public marina. “Yes... we are going to jump into the harbour!”

“Remy… No...”

“Remy, yes!”

“This is madness!”

It looked like the police really were going to be calling her mothers and keeping them in a cell overnight, Marie thought as she dropped her heels onto the bricked walkway and stripped down to her skivvies. They paused on the wooden beam along the side, staring down into the inky blackness of water below them.

“This is—”

Remy offered his hand out to her and she took it, savouring the warmth as the cooler night air enveloped their bodies.

“No backing out now.” The smile he gave her made her knees go a little weak.

“Not gonna.”

“Alright. Then in three… two… one!”

They shrieked the entire way down, plunging into the freezing waters that instantly wrapped cold fingers around them.

“Holy shit!” Marie shouted once she resurfaced.

Remy stuttered next to her, treading water. “You’re right! That was the _worst_ idea I’ve ever had.” A string of curses followed that would have made a sailor proud.

“No fucking shit, Sherlock! Jesus Christ on a pogo stick! I’m so fucking cold.”

They raced to the nearest ladder, boosting themselves out and dripping water everywhere. Marie stole Remy’s shirt once more and debated the merits of wearing her bra and underwear underneath it all. Deciding it really wasn’t worth the effort, Marie stole his jacket too, ignoring the way Remy’s shirt clung to her like a second skin. Even if her sanity had just slipped, she was not going to suffer the indignity of walking around New York wearing pretty much nothing.

The cab driver wasn’t pleased at having to dry the damp seats when he dropped them off or by the half-naked state of his male passenger; his scowl only abated when Remy handed over a hundred dollar bill and told him to keep the change.

 * * *

**(+10. Drops off chocolate)**

Marie didn’t return Remy’s shirt when they parted for the night for separate warm showers. It didn’t seem proper to when it smelt like the harbour, least of all when she was still wearing it. He did, however, get his jacket back.

She hid her surprise when he made no crude remark about sharing a shower, but instead wished her a good night with a peck on her cheek. Perhaps she had misunderstood him, Marie thought as she washed herself clean of harbour water. Perhaps Remy Lebeau wasn’t the man she made him out to be, Marie reflected as she blew dry her hair in front of the telly. Perhaps dating a world famous magician wouldn’t be so bad was her last thought before drifting off to sleep.

 

There was no Remy knocking at her door to wake her up the following morning. She felt a little disappointed but she perked up when she fixed herself a bowl of porridge. Not that her disappointment could keep her from ruminating (read: daydreaming) about Remy later on as she edited the video, or even when she went to do some laundry.

It was a good thing that nobody she encountered on her way downstairs knew that the shirt laying inconspicuously at the very top of her laundry belonged to a certain charming neighbour of theirs. She took out her phone as she waited for the machine to be done with its cycle, playing a game of Crossy Road and replying to an email from Jean that said she wouldn’t be able to make Kitty’s wedding menu taste testing that night. She made her way back upstairs after the washing machine beeped triumphantly and everything was more-or-less folded back in the basket.

She nearly tripped over something after she unlocked the door. Bending down, the rude phrases died on her lips when she noticed the post-it note stuck on top of a box of Godiva truffles.

‘Thanks for a great first date, chére.’

There was no name to indicate the sender, but there could only be one who would sign the bottom of that message with two kisses.

“Optimistic, aren’t we?” Marie chuckled to herself and began plotting where to take Remy out on their next date.

* * *

**(+10. A friend in need is a friend indeed.)**

“You have to bring someone,” Kitty said as everyone took a quick break in the middle of a taste testing for the wedding menu. They were standing in the middle of a fancy, expensive restaurant: too much silverware, stacks of china plates and about as many different types of glasses as Marie had fingers. The staff were running around looking cool as cucumbers as they changed plates and took away used cutlery, getting ready for the last course of the night. “You’ll ruin the symmetry!”

In all the years that Marie had known her, Kitty had never looked so stressed. The guests for the sampling were scattered around the private room that overlooked the Hudson River. Piotr shrugged helplessly on from where he was conversing with his brother at the far end of the restaurant when Marie made eye contact.

“I’m— I’m working on it.” She wasn’t sure if Remy would say yes, or even if he would be in town for the wedding; she really hoped he would say yes.

“Well, work on it faster! There’s only so much time left before the wedding and I still have so many things to organize! Can you believe Piotr’s mother argued with me between ivory and cream for the placemats? It was an _hour_ long argument because she couldn’t tell the difference.” Kitty hissed quietly, not wanting Mrs Rasputina to hear the bad-mouthing happening on the other side of the room.

“Well, they are different colo—”

“I won in the end, of course,” Kitty cut in and then easily dismissed the victory to get to the matter at hand. “Besides, weren’t you talking about a guy the other day? Why don’t you ask him to come? You can come as friends! No one has to know that you two aren’t—” and here Kitty supplemented with a gesture that Marie assumed could only be intercourse.

“Really, Kitty? It’s sex. You can say the word you know.” Marie said with a roll of her eyes. She’d forgotten that Kitty’s mental age decreased in correlation to the increase in stress.

“Marie, I need this. I need something in this wedding to go _right_. I’m up the wazoo with potential disasters. Please just give me this, if not for your image then for my sanity. You have no idea what Piotr’s mother is like.”

Marie was never going to get married if this was the sort of stress that people go through just to plan one day. “I clearly don’t since I’ve never met the lady. But fine. Put me down with a plus one for now.”

“Good. Because if you don’t I’m gonna have to pair you with this European guy. He’s got an accent, though I know how you are with guys and accents. Tattoos everywhere. Hyper-religious.” Kitty paused, sizing Marie up. “You’re exactly his type, actually.”

“Sounds like a… catch,” Marie drawled, trying not to imagine a priest with some sort of tribal tattoos all over his arms or something. “Is he a friend of Piotr’s or...?”

“Don’t ask. Now when the waiters tell us they are good to go, there will be cake. I’m not certain I can trust Jube’s tastebuds. I think they’ve been drowned by too much coffee to be of any use.”

“Hey!” Jubilee shouted from right beside them, brandishing her fifth Starbucks coffee cup of that evening. There was a manic sort of look in her eye that could only come from too much caffeine. “What do you mean there’s a new guy in your life, Marie? And what do you mean I, Jubilee, taster of cakes and pastries connoisseur, am not helpful for all your cake tasting needs?”

Kitty folded her arms. “She’s been awfully secretive about her new man. Keeping this one close to her chest. I haven’t been able to get anything out of Marie.”

“And this isn’t her usual MO of picking someone up at the wedding.” Jubilee narrowed her eyes, smelling bullshit from a mile away that Marie’s defense died on her tongue. “You gotta spill, girl.”

Marie felt the cold sweat gathering at the small of her neck like she were a cornered nun in a dark alleyway. “Um. Don’t freak out...”

“But?” Kitty demanded, waving away the maitre d’ who wanted to get the cake tasting started. “Five minutes, Pierre. There is a very important revelation to be had.” The man may have been smiling courteously, but he was probably every bit as stressed as Kitty was.

“Don’t freak out, Jubes, but I might possibly be dating a guy. He’s my neighbour, and he seems to genuinely like me…”

“Why would I be freaking out over that?” Jubilee asked and tilted her head to one side. “I think that’s great! I’m so happy for you! What does he do for a living?”

“He’s … a professional magician,” Marie said at length, knowing that eventually Jubilee the magician fan would cotton on.

“Oh yeah?” Jubilee took a long swallow of from her Starbucks and then set it on the table beside her. “Does he have a stage name? Have I heard of him?”

“Yes… I— oh fuck it. I’m more or less maybe dating Gambit.”

The silence was tangible that Marie could hear the fast paced conversation in Russian from the opposite side of the room.

“SHUT. UP. WHAT? OH MY GOD. GAMBIT IS COMING TO THE WEDDING? Oh my _GOD_. What am I going to _WEAR?_ ” Jubilee freaked out, whipping out her phone from her jean’s pocket. At Jubilee’s first squeal, the Rasputins all looked at them in a Kodak moment: a family photograph with matching expressions of confusion and concern.

“I have to put this on Tumblr _AND_ Twitter. Everyone is going to FREAK OUT.”

Marie winced, hoping that telling her closest friends about her newest love life development wasn’t about to blow up in her face. “No, Jubes. Please respect our privacy, at least until I know for sure that this thing we have is gonna go somewhere. I mean, it was just dinner to make up for.... he didn’t even _kiss_ me _. Well._ He pecked me on the cheek goodnight, but that hardly counts...”

“What a guy,” Jubilee swooned, pocketing her phone with a pout. “FINE. But you better promise to tell me EVERYTHING.”

“I am not going to fuel your already far too active imagination, Jubes.” Marie had been subjected to Jubilee’s fannish fantasies, but hoped never to be a subject of it. Because that was already really awkward.

“ _AND_ an autograph as your bestest friend.”

“Hey!” Kitty interjected. “What does that make me? Chopped liver?”

“Nah. Just chop suey!” Jubes cackled, apparently finally having cracked on her diet of coffee and sugar.

Kitty and Marie wisely ignored their friend’s dissociation with reality. “Holy shit, Marie. When were you going to tell us?”

“Soon! I swear,” Marie said, throwing her hands up in defence.

“You’ve slept with him?”

“No!”

“Not yet you mean,” Kitty added slyly, eyeing the chef in the corner that was sending a death laser stare their way. She gave a nod and slowly ushered her friends back to their seats. “He’s fit as fuck and pretty much everyone would tap that. Hell I would.”

“How can you say that at your own wedding rehearsal dinner?”

“Hey, nothing’s final until I got a ring on my finger. I can still window shop until then!”

* * *

**(-300. What the fuck is happening? Who is this lady?)**

She felt over-stuffed from being Kitty’s extra stomach., and triumphant from surviving the interrogation at the hands of Kitty and Jubilee. The top button of her jeans had been undone about an hour into the tasting, but Marie felt it was well worth the food baby she was currently carrying as she waddled up the stairs to her flat and unlocked her door.

She glanced at her wristwatch and then paused, wondering if it would be too late to drop in on Remy. Surely not? Surely - even if they were just friends - he wouldn’t refuse to go to a wedding with her, right?

There was going to be free food.

Food that was decent!

Her food baby could attest to that.

Feeling bolstered by her pep talk, Marie knocked on Remy’s door. When the door swung open, she expected a handsome red-eyed not-quite stranger to answer it. Instead, there was some leggy blonde wearing a shirt that was obviously not hers. Her good mood came to a crashing stop

What the _fuck_.

“You’re not Remy,” Marie said obviously, eyeing this attractive broad up and down. Remy hadn’t mentioned that he was dating someone. Had he?

“Good observation, sister. Can I help you?” the blonde asked sweetly, shifting her weight to one side as she leant against the door frame. The blonde crossed her arms like she was some bouncer of Remy’s flat. Marie couldn’t help but notice just how fit this woman was, . and pulled at her jacket to cover her mid-section, feeling conscious of her bloated, cake-filled tummy.

“I… No. Do you know when he’ll be back?” Marie attempted to sass back just as hard but found herself left wanting.

“Oh, did you want to speak with him?”

“Yes,” Marie said flatly, as if that hadn’t been obvious from the very beginning. The desire to speak with him was slowly being replaced by the need to punch him in the face. Confusion turned into anger. She ought to have known better than to trust a serial womanizer.

“One moment then.” The blonde sashayed away from the door, calling out Remy’s name. Marie wondered if she was imagining the sensual purr in her voice.

Remy rushed to the door, a towel slung around his neck and another haphazardly wrapped around his lower half modestly. Not that Remy seemed to know the definition of that word. “Chére! I was not expecting to see you tonight! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Evidently not.” Marie seethed. “Who was that?”

“Now, chére. I know this might seem like…,” Remy gestured at his lack of clothing and became uncharacteristically flustered, “but it isn’t what it looks like! I swear.”

“Oh really? And what is it meant to look like?”

“She— I— We’re not,” Remy waved wildly with his free hand, as if to conjure up a perfectly acceptable excuse for something that seemed pretty cut and dry to Marie.

“You don’t need to explain. I have eyes. There’s no need for any explanations.”

“Marie, please. We are not having sex. I’m only helping her—”

“It’s not a problem if you were. Do whatever you like. I’m done.” She didn’t wait to hear his explanation and stormed off, slamming her door in his face. It felt good, cathartic to let off a little steam, but now after the fact, she couldn’t muster the energy to keep her legs up and sank to floor.

“Marie!” Remy shouted through the wood. “Open the door, please! It’s not what you think, honestly. She and I… We’re only friends!”

“Fuck off!” Marie seethed, folding her arms on top of her knees and burying her face into her forearms, willing away the tears. It was foolish of her to think that maybe Remy could have been a decent guy after all.

* * *

**(-8000000. He’s a two-timing bag of dicks. I hate him with the passion of a thousand suns.)**

As the big day drew closer, the myriad of tiny all-important events came thick and fast. As Marie was the only one who had flexible hours, she was defaulted to show up at each and every one as Kitty’s moral support and paragon of zen. Jean was always busy during business hours and Jubilee would only swing by when there was free food on offer; Kitty automatically included her in all subsequent dress fittings and menu finalizations.

Today happened to be the finalization of the guest list and the seating charts with no free food in sight, leaving Marie to hold the fort on her lonesome in the flat that Kitty and Piotr shared.

“Did you ever hear back from your plus one, Marie?” Kitty asked as she shuffled some papers about.

Marie froze. “Well…”

“I’m not trying to pressure you, I just need these seating charts set by tonight. Do you need me to save a spot for Gambit?” Kitty asked, sharper than she had meant to, and recoiled at the terse tone she had taken on. “Sorry.”

“I mean, yeah, I’ve got a guy I can bring but it’s not Gambit…”

“Aww, honey. It didn’t work out? I’m sorry.” Kitty reached across the table and touched the back of Marie’s hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“We won’t then. Did you say you have another guy? What’s his name so I can pencil him in?”

“Uh… Re-Robert. Yup.” Marie sweated, hoping her little laugh didn’t sound as horrendously fake as the lie did. It’s been days since she had last seen Remy, having spent much of her time with Kitty. It even got to the point where she was staying over for a couple of nights citing that it was where she was going to be the night after anyway.

“Oh? And where did you meet this ‘Robert’?” Kitty asked, suddenly suspicious, placing her pen gently on the glass table where they were sitting. It had been a gruelling two hour affair at her flat. It was high time for a coffee break.

“We met at a YouTube meet-up a couple of weeks ago. He’s a vlogger. He uh.. He vlogs. Yeah. I wasn’t sure whether he would be in town when we were at the cake tasting.”

Kitty didn’t seem fully pleased with that description and she pursed her lips together. “I’ve been your friend for a long time, Marie. I can tell when you’re lying to me. Try again.”

Marie gulped. She _had_ met a guy at the meet-up, so technically she wasn’t lying, and he looked like a Robert. Only she had no idea what his channel name was or what sort of content he produced or how in the seven hells she was going to convince him to rock up to one of her best friend’s wedding let alone contact him.

“No date. Just put me with that hyper-religious European guy.”

Marie got up from the table and wisely offered to fix them both coffee, needing to flee the scene of the crime. She needed some alone time to compose herself and ignore the pitying look on Kitty’s face.

* * *

**(-20. This dress is so unattractive it’s entered the realm of offensive.)**

It was early morning on Kitty’s big day and there was more caffeine than blood running through Marie’s veins. The wedding venue that the Prydes and the Rasputins had hired for the occasion was a beautiful sprawling estate with a perfectly manicured lawn and groomed animal topiaries, large comfortable rooms with high ceilings and expensive furnishings, and enough staff to see to the guests and keep everything ticking smoothly like clockwork.

The bridesmaids were allocated two rooms to change, connected by a Jack and Jill bathroom. Marie stared at the bridesmaid dresses that were spread out over the bed with some degree of bafflement and amazement. She had seen the designs, been present for the fittings, and now this was it. The moment of truth.

It didn’t make the dress any more attractive.

There was a festive bow on top of the right shoulder that made the ensemble more fitting for a quinceañera than at a wedding. The dress was forest green in colour, layered with lime green and emerald trimmings, andwould have fit perfectly as military issued camouflage despite the layers of chiffon and tulle. Marie was going to kill whoever had invented tulle because it was fucking itchy, and she would rather not ruin all the wedding photos by looking like she’d just burst out in hives; apparently she wasn’t the only one that hated tulle judging from the look on Jean’s face.

Once Marie had managed to squeeze herself into the dress, Jubilee bounced through the door with hors d’oeuvres in one hand and in her mouth; Marie had never been more envious of Jubilee’s endless enthusiasm and boundless energy than in that very moment. She felt like either another cup of coffee or the glass of champagne in Jubilee’s hand.

“Marie!” Jubilee shouted over the chaos, “is Kitty ready yet? The wedding coordinator guy looks like he’ll be shitting bullets if we don’t have her out soon! And I think her mum is about ready to ram through the door.”

“Does she look like she’s ready?” Marie shot back, hip checking Jean out of the way to pound on the locked bathroom door. The wedding was scheduled to start any minute now and Kitty was nowhere close to being within the realm of ready. “Kitty! Have you drowned in there? We need you out here, pronto!”

“I’ll just be a second, girls!” Kitty called out from the bathroom. “Just tucking my boobs in. I swear this dress shrunk four sizes since the last dress fitting...”

“She’s not pregnant, is she?” Jubilee whispered dramatically. “Am I gonna be a godmother?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marie hissed. “Wedding first. Think about godkids later.”

“You’re stalling, Kitty!” Jean shouted, taking absolutely none of Kitty’s bullshit. She was the eldest of the group and already married. If anyone was going to be cool and calm in the face of the wedding chaos, it would be Jean. “You have until the count of three before I break down the door.”

By the time Jean got to two, Kitty emerged from the bathroom looking like a classic portrait of nerves. Her gown was white and modest A-line cut, lace covering her clavicles and her upper arms. Simple and elegant. “I don’t think I can do this.” Her hands were shaking.

“Oh, honey,” Marie said, watching as Jean wrapped Kitty up into her arms and squeezed.

“You love Piotr, and Piotr loves you,” Jean continued reasonably. “You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t think it was the right time.”

“Plus you’ve been dating since the ice age,” Jubilee chimed in, popping the last of her hors d’oeuvres into her mouth. “Issh abouf tyaim schu tew gossch mawwied. Issh Lub! Twuu lub!!”

“Say it, don’t spray it,” Marie reminded her.

“Gross, Jubes,” Kitty said, wrinkling her nose and pulling away from Jean’s embrace. She let out a shaky sigh and ran her fingers through her hair that would send the hired stylist into conniptions. “I know. I’m just… scared by change.”

“No,” Marie said forcefully, pushing Kitty to sit in front of the mirror and flapping a hand to ward the hair stylist away. “Change can be good or bad and no one can ever predict what will happen. But you won’t be going into this alone. You have Piotr and us, and nothing is going to change that.”

“Okay. You’re right,” Kitty said, letting out a breath and looked at her reflection steadily. “I haven’t seen Piotr for a week and it’s… what if he changed his mind? I’m just… so nervous that he’d take one look at me and reconsider. Maybe I’m just being stupid. Okay, okay. I’m ready as I’m ever going to be. The sooner I get married to Piotr, the sooner I can eat right?”

“You got it,” Jubilee said with a grin, clapping the crumbs off her fingers. “Now, let’s get you ready and transform you into the beautiful _kallah_ that you are! Girls, it’s time to work some magic!”

 

Once the ball got rolling, Kitty had little time to second-guess herself. Mrs Pryde looked suitably less homicidal when Kitty arrived at Kabbalat Panim to greet the guests. By Jewish tradition, Kitty sat upon an ornately decorated throne-like chair to receive her guests warm wishes and _mazal tov_ s in what seemed like an endless stream of synagogue ladies. Piotr was in a separate hall to receive his own guests, although it was too far to hear any singing at his reception.

“Did you ever think that Kitty was going to be the next one to get married?” Jubilee asked, swaying from side to side to make her dress swish.

“Well,” Marie drawled, resisting the urge to scratch, “it sure as hell wasn’t going to be either you or me, given both our track records.”

“Don’t say that!” Jubilee said, her face turning red. “I’m sure the person for you and me is out there! Or maybe, _maybe_ , even here at this wedding!”

“Fat chance,” Marie scoffed with a shake of her head.

They were joined a moment later by Wanda Maximoff, a member of Kitty’s synagogue and an old friend of theirs. “I thought I saw some familiar faces around here,” Wanda said by way of greeting, sashaying over like she were on a catwalk, fitting of her profession as an international model. She looked resplendent as usual, in a peach coloured dress that showed off her figure flatteringly.

“Wanda!” Jubilee said, pulling Wanda into a bear hug.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Jean said warmly. “I thought you couldn’t make it with that job in Milan. How’s Pietro?”

“Piet is fine, same as usual. We impressed upon the director how important it was for the project to end when they said it would, otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to make it back in time,” Wanda said with a wicked grin. “It’s good to be back in New York and see the family again. Now, tell me what is new with all of you. Fill me in with all the details, girls!”

They caught up and chatted about the wedding preparations until the groom’s procession walked into the reception room. Piotr immediately perked up when he saw Kitty, and Kitty was unable to reign in the wide grin on her face when their eyes met. They were so romantic and sweet that it was no wonder that they were finally getting married.

They exchanged some quiet words and then he placed a square of white satin over Kitty’s face in the veiling ceremony. Wanda explained quietly that the veil was to show Piotr’s commitment and continued interest in Kitty’s internal beauty, and to offer Kitty privacy during such an important time of her life.

The groom’s procession left shortly afterwards, and the wedding coordinator whisked in to exchange words with Kitty and Piotr’s parents. He announced to the guests that they were free to file into the garden at their leisure. Wanda waved and followed the crowd out into the gardens, promising to catch up later.

Jean, Marie and Jubilee were lead to a large sunroom that acted as the foyer between the house and the garden where the chuppah and guests were. The floors were tiled in a black-and-white checkered pattern with large leafy plants all arranged in their neat little pots by the windows. A set of white wicker chairs were arranged around a table. It must be wonderful to sit there in the morning just enjoying the view and a cup of joe.

The ringbearer, one of Piotr’s nieces, babbled at them from the arms of her father and Piotr’s brother Mikhail when they walked in. She was a cute little thing with dark ringlets and a cheeky smile.

Jubilee bounced on her toes, excitement emanating from her as she gently poked at one of her chubby rosy cheeks. “Oh gosh! Hello little lady! Aren’t you beautiful!”

“Isn’t she just,” Mikhail agreed fondly, looking every inch the proud daddy that he was. “We’re glad she’s feeling agreeable. I should probably change her before the wedding begins. Excuse me, ladies.” He walked away, making silly faces at his daughter the entire way.

Jubilee turned back around, clicking her heels together. “I can’t believe it. It’s finally happening! All of the planning and flower arranging and…”

“Our stomachs…” Marie added fondly, her mouth watering at the memory of cakes and feeling zero regrets about her life choices. “And now we’re minutes away…”

“Away from having more cake?” Jean inputted with a teasing grin.

“I am more than my stomach, Jean! You just weren’t there to taste the frosting.”

“Positively orgasmic,” Jubilee chirped. “You missed out, Jeanie.”

Their wait was interrupted by the loud clapping of the wedding coordinator who was doing his utmost in hiding how frazzled and stressed he must be. “Places, ladies!” he said, handing over the bouquets before disappearing into the room where Piotr was waiting.

A moment later, Piotr stepped out with his parents. He looked handsome in his tuxedo and kippah, a white rose pinned to his left lapel. In all the years that Marie has known Piotr, she had never seen how bright and big the smile was on his face. Marie saw Jubilee catch Piotr’s eye and she gave him an encouraging thumbs up, a gesture that Piotr reciprocated.

The coordinator spoke quickly into his headset and then nodded at the two attendants standing next to the double french doors to open them, letting in a light breeze that tickled at their feet. Piotr’s chest heaved when he took in a deep breath, steeling himself for the big moment, and then he was being walked down the white stain aisle with his parents to the sound of singing and violins.

There was a long pause before it was finally their turn to walk out into the sunshine. The weather had cleared up from the thunderstorms they had endured earlier in the week, lingering over for far too long to the point that Kitty had almost given herself an ulcer stressing that it wouldn’t clear up. The blue periwinkle sky above with the occasional fluffy white cloud that morning was enough to abate her concern.

Jean waltzed down the aisle, sandwiched between Marie and Jubilee as they walked towards the chuppah where Piotr — now wearing a white tallit — and his parents were waiting next to the rabbi. Marie did her best to smile as she surveyed the sea of unknown faces. There was Pietro and Wanda sitting next to an older white-haired gentleman and a bald man in a wheelchair in Kitty’s section. A few familiar faces stuck out but Marie couldn’t recall their names for the life of her.

The smile on her face froze when her eyes swept over Piotr’s section and landed on Remy’s face; he was someone that she never thought to see at this wedding. Her insides turned to ice just seeing him sitting next to the blonde woman from earlier.

Marie hoped the amount of foundation on her face covered the angry flush blossoming under her skin. Her feet mechanically brought her to the seats designated for the bridesmaids, and she didn’t notice when the ringbearer (and her chariot) walked to sit on the other side.

She only snapped out of it when the music changed and then it was Kitty walking down the aisle. Someone sitting behind her was whispering about how beautiful she looked. Another was commenting on how quickly time passed and how soon Kitty had transformed from a little girl to a young woman.

Once she got to the front, the rabbi gently ushered them to stand facing the crowd before asking everyone to take their seats and to switch off their phones. Kitty and Piotr snuck glances at one another, broad smiles on their faces as they furtively and resolutely looked out towards their guests.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the rabbi said, addressing the couple, “we are standing today under the chuppah which is the symbol of the house that you will be forming together like the seven days of creation. It is also a symbol of Mount Sinai and all the customs of the chuppah as we recall the commitment between God and the Jewish people like the home of our ancestor Abraham, open on all sides as a sign of hospitality. There is nothing around you, you know the story about the falling of the walls of Jericho, and like that any boundaries, any separation between you is now brought down. And now, the kallah symbolizes the building of the new walls as you build your new world together.”

At the rabbi’s signal, Kitty walked around Piotr seven times to the sound of a piano and more singing before standing once more to the right of Piotr.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated.” The rabbi paused, giving everyone ample time to sit before continuing. “As I was filling out the wedding registry, I was imagining what to say in front of everyone here. I noticed that both the chatan and the kallah are doctors of medicine. Both of you are volunteers at Médecins Sans Frontières. In fact, that is where you met.”

Marie’s eyes glazed over as the rabbi continued speaking, making references and anecdotes to stories that she was woefully ignorant about. She did try her best to follow, laughing in the appropriate places, but she found her attention was torn between Kitty and Piotr, and knowing that Remy was somehow present at the wedding with his date.

New York was not small, with a population that was nearing ten million people. Sure, she expected one of her more famous of YouTube friends to maybe know a friend of a friend who might know Remy. But this? Probability-wise, the chances of this happening, of them meeting at one of her best friend’s wedding, were slim.

She put her own matters out of her mind and concentrated when the guests were all invited to stand, and watched through watery eyes as Kitty was unveiled, vows were exchanged, and Piotr slipped the ring onto Kitty’s finger. Mrs Pryde was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief watching on as her daughter and new son-in-law sealed the deal with a kiss.

Marie resolutely didn’t turn around to see where Remy was or what he was doing when they were being lead away for photographs. She didn’t care (she told herself unconvincingly) but couldn’t stop her eyes from scanning the crowds regardless.

* * *

**(+0.00000000001 Remy is an idiot, but… we’re a matching pair of idiots.)**

Marie avoided Remy throughout the wedding reception, which wasn’t difficult to do as they were seated at different tables. The wedding reception marquee was set out on the lawn, surrounded by beautiful flowers and illuminated by garden torches as the night encroached upon the day.

A string quartet greeted the guests with serene music as they were invited to make their way towards their seats. Underneath the canopy of the marquee hung fairy lights and three hanging chandeliers. Marie was suitably impressed to find a disco ball hanging from the centre in the section reserved for dancing. Each round table was covered by a cream tablecloth and surrounded by ten satin-covered chairs, each tied off by a golden bow on the back. As the centerpiece: a decorative arrangement of white orchids and vanilla scented candles.

Marie was placed at the wedding party’s table: her date, the tattooed German man named Kurt sat on Marie’s right; next to him was Jubilee and her date Laura; and Jean and her husband Scott sat on Marie’s left. Everything from the tableware to the crisp napkins to the specifically chosen plates were designed to work in harmony. Judging from the pleased look on Kitty’s face, everything was done to her liking. Marie had to admit it was a nicer set up than what Kitty had been showing her in wedding magazines.

Everyone at their table made small talk as the last of the guests filed in and took their seats. Jubilee and Laura seemed intent on their conversation, off in their own little world of internet memes and the latest gossip. Likewise Jean and Scott were bickering about their own wedding attempt years prior, that Jean felt didn’t hold a candle to Kitty’s carefully planned masterpiece. Kurt turned out to be a wonderful conversationalist and not as strange as Kitty had lead Marie to believe. He was incredibly charming and had the cutest, dorkiest smile with the uncanny ability to make anyone feel comfortable and at ease throughout dinner.

Despite the rich, interesting conversation she was having with Kurt, when he got up to use the amenities she found herself wanting to look over at Remy’s table. He was a guest of the Rasputin family and as such was placed at Piotr’s family table with his parents and extended family. Marie spent her time making a conscious effort not to look in his direction. As soon as she caught herself straying, Marie averted her eyes to the nearest waiter and asked for a wine refill instead.

The speeches began just as the empty dessert plates were being taken away. Piotr’s best man and childhood best friend spoke first, entertaining the masses with his cute Russian accent and anecdotes about Piotr being a precocious child. Likewise, when it was Jean’s turn as the maid of honour, she regaled everyone with various tales of Kitty navigating the pitfalls of becoming a responsible young adult. Both of their speeches agreed that it was by some divine stroke of destiny that Kitty and Piotr found one another. Everyone’s glasses were raised in a final _mazal tov_.

As the speeches concluded, Kitty and Piotr took to the floor for the couple’s first dance. And slowly, couple by couple, the dance floor’s population began to rise.

“Shall we dance?” Kurt asked, offering his hand with a bashful smile.

Marie would have to be heartless to refuse and accepted his helping hand to stand up. “I would love to.”

“You look beautiful tonight,” Kurt said as they slotted together and slowly waltzed around the dancefloor. He was the perfect gentleman, avoiding any altercations with Marie’s toes and not uttering a sound when Marie accidentally trod on his.

“I look like I belong in the garden. I feel like a topiary,” Marie quipped.

Kurt blinked. His head tilted adorably to the side in his confusion. “Topiary?”

Marie paused, crushing the urge to laugh nervously. Had she finally broken Kurt with her special brand of humour? Was something lost in translation? Kurt had mentioned that English wasn’t his first language.

“A topiary is a specially grown shrub that is typically groomed to look like a shape. There were a few out in the garden. Did you see?”

“No,” Kurt said, wilting a little. “I must have missed them. Perhaps we can go visit them later?”

A voice cut in before Marie had the chance to accept Kurt’s invitation: “Excusez-moi, mon ami. Would you mind if I cut in?”

They stopped dancing as the music drew to a close. Marie turned to see Remy standing there in his tuxedo with a frighteningly serious look on his face. She had seen Remy in his birthday suit, but there was something spectacular about seeing him in a sharp tuxedo.

“Only if the lady does not mind,” Kurt said, reluctant to relinquish his hold on Marie’s hand.

Marie shook her head. “Not at all, Kurt.”

With a curt nod of thanks, Remy cut in and they moved in time to the next dance. Kurt moved off the dancefloor, and wandered away to find a seat on the outskirts of the dancefloor. He looked a little lost as he watched on.

“We need to talk, Marie.”

“I didn’t think you’d crash a wedding to do it.”

“You didn’t return my calls,” Remy pointed out. “And I didn’t crash this wedding. I’m a guest and Illyana’s plus one. Illyana is Piotr’s sister.”

Ah. Illyana must be the blonde’s name. “Her plus one? Then it certainly sounds like we don’t really have anything to talk about.”

“Nothing is going on between Illyana and I. We have been friends for a long time and that’s all it is. I’ve been putting her up since she’s been moving.”

“And she doesn’t have family?” Marie snipped, squeezing down on Remy’s hand as the slow waltz began to wind down.

“It’s… complicated. But it’s still true! Why would I need to lie to you?”

“I don’t know,” Marie said, frustrated. She couldn’t think and she needed some fresh air. “Come with me outside. This is hardly the place to be talking about such matters.”

Remy allowed himself to be dragged and once they were out of earshot from anyone, he stopped. “Just tell me the truth, Marie. I need to know why you’re so upset so I can fix it.”

She bit at her lip, her eyes darting nervously lest anyone had decided to follow them. They could talk this through like the adults that they both were. “I enjoyed our dinner date and your company. Like, I mean I enjoyed it a lot. It was why I was so gutted to find that you had another woman in your apartment. What else was I meant to think when you come constantly over, but I have never been invited back to yours?”

“Marie,” Remy said seriously. “It wasn’t like that. You are always welcome at my flat. It was just more convenient to crash at yours. I have known the Rasputin family for a very long time. Illyana and I are only friends. Nothing more, nothing less. I see her as a younger sister but I know what it would have looked like if you came over and found her things everywhere.”

“She was walking around wearing _your shirt_ ,” Marie insisted, still not convinced. Anyone walking around in someone else’s clothes, especially of the opposite gender, obviously had some sort of motive. Or so the tabloid girly magazines Marie had digested in a variety of newspaper stands whilst doing coffee runs for Kitty had suggested.

“It’s just a shirt, Marie. You’ve got one of my shirts. It seems everyone in New York has one of my shirts.”

“That’s really not helping your case.”

“I suppose not,” he conceded. “But you’re just proving my point. Tell me, why didn’t you return my calls?”

“I’ve been staying at Kitty’s. We were doing wedding things. I’m sorry if one of my best friends is more important than you.”

“I’m not saying that she isn’t important. But you did say that you were contactable via a variety of methods.”

Marie flushed. “I might have been… ignoring them. I just... I don’t know.”

“I can get Illyana if you don’t believe me. I have nothing to hide, chére.”

Marie shook her head, plucking at the bow on her shoulder. “That’s just… I’m upset because you never mentioned Illyana staying at your place. How hard would it have been to just slip that into conversation: ‘Hey, I have a friend staying at my apartment. I’m helping her move. Let’s go do something like go to the park.’ I’m upset because in such a short time, I’ve actually been compelled to get to know you and not what’s in your pants. I could see myself and you maybe making dinner and get togethers a more common thing. I was upset to find that maybe you and Illyana were an item. I’m many things, Remy, but I am not someone’s third wheel. I’m upset because I let myself see what it could have been like to date you, and I liked what I saw. Now do you get it?”

Remy was silent as he digested the information. The knots in Marie’s stomach roiled as each passing second dragged on. She couldn’t bear to think that her feelings were unrequited.

“Marie… I—”

“I know it’s really fast and it’s not something that anyone wants to be saddled with because, shit fuck these feelings, but I can’t help feeling it. And I’m sorry if this makes it awkward for you and Illyana now, and look I’m rambling now, you jerk, look at what—”

Her sentence ended abruptly. It took Marie a few moments to realize why. Because Remy’s hands were cupping her face and he was kissing her underneath the fairy lights like some horrible cliche out of a romantic comedy.

She pulled her mouth away, hands settling on his chest ready to push him further. “What the fuck!?” Which was a totally legitimate and normal reaction when a guy just kissed you out of the blue like that.

“I like you, Marie,” Remy said, still not relinquishing his hold of her face. “I thought that it was well and truly over when you slammed your door in my face. But then I saw you walk down the aisle and I just knew that I had to clear the air between us.”

“Well…”

“It would help if you hadn’t run off like that.”

“Then you should have just told me,” Marie retorted. “You know, the thing that couples do.”

“What? Sex?”

Marie rolled her eyes. She should have seen that coming. “Talk, you dumbass. You’re lucky that I like you.”

“Good. Because I really like you too, and maybe we can find out together if you like what’s in my pants.” Remy threw in an eyebrow waggle and a dorky grin.

Marie snorted, realization dawning on her as a heavenly chorus sang in her mind. “You’re such a dick,” she said before kissing Remy again.

**Author's Note:**

> You can check us both out on tumblr:  
> [scarabsethart](http://scarabsethart.tumblr.com/) & [kageillusionz](http://kageillusionz.tumblr.com)!


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